


Sherlollipops - Mobile Matchmaking

by MizJoely



Series: 221 Sherlollipops [67]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sherlolly - Freeform, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 19:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3423356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly ends up with the wrong phone after a party. Watch what happens when she goes to return it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollipops - Mobile Matchmaking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [broomclosetkink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/broomclosetkink/gifts).



> via broomclosetkink - garrisonbabe on tumblr said: accidentally swapped phones with someone at a party and don't realize until their mom calls in the morning and you spend like three hours talking to this hilarious woman about life and when you go to her house to return her kid's phone wow the kid is the really good kisser from the party last night au
> 
> So here's what I made of it! Rated T, teenlock, featuring Mummy and Dad Holmes.

“Um, hi, Mrs. Holmes? I’m Molly, Molly Hooper from – ”

“Oh, my dear, yes! Of course I remember, you sound a bit less tinny in real life, bless you!” With a twinkle in her eye, Imogen Holmes accepted the phone the teen-aged girl awkwardly handed her. “Do say you’ll come in for a cup of tea, it’s the least I can offer after you came all the way out here to return my idiot son’s mobile!” She tsked and shook her head. “He never can keep track of it, always leaving it in odd places, some days I threaten to glue it to his fingers!”

Molly grinned, relaxing somewhat in the presence of the friendly older woman, the mother of the boy the phone belonged to. Molly had found it in the pocket of her denim jacket only when it woke her up with a ringtone consisting of one of her favorite Smiths’ songs. She and Mrs. Holmes had chatted for what seemed like hours after the initial ‘sorry I don’t know how I ended up with this phone’ conversation had ended. “Well, that might keep him in touch but it probably wouldn’t do his homework any good!” she joked, loving the sound of Mrs. Holmes’ warm chuckle.

When she urged her to come inside for a cup of tea again, Molly couldn’t help but say yes, curious to see what the inside of the cozy brick-faced home would look like. The kitchen was cluttered but friendly, and she took the chair Mrs. Holmes offered her as she bustled about the kitchen, still chatting merrily away about her youngest son. It wasn’t a name she recognized, ‘Sherlock Holmes’ - but it was certainly one she’d never forget! She wondered idly which of the boys at the party had been him - the short one with the ash blond hair who’d been snogging Mary Morstan in the corner where everyone’s jackets had been heaped? That would certainly make sense - but no, she remembered; the boy’s name was John something. Wharton? Whitford? Something with a W, anyway.

The answer to her question came strolling into the kitchen from the inner doorway, which presumably led to the parlor and from there to the rest of the house, and Molly sucked in her breath in recognition. Her face burned beet red and she bolted to her feet, stammering out some excuse to the surprised looking Mrs. Holmes, something about her Dad needing her at home. Then she gabbled out a thanks for the tea she’d not even had a sip of, and dashed back outside, not slowing down until she was well down the lane and on her way home.

She laid her hands on her flaming cheeks, breath coming in hard pants from both panic and the mad dash for safety. Oh, how crazy was it, that the phone had been HIS? The boy she’d met, who’d come with another friend who’d promptly abandoned him for a girl he’d met. The two of them hadn’t exchanged names, but his tart observations of the partygoers had Molly in a combination of horror and stitches - especially when it came to people she knew. He didn’t even go to her school, no wonder she didn’t recognize either him or his name!

Her cheeks flushed even redder as she remembered how the conversation had turned a bit more personal, until suddenly they were huddled together in a dark corner, whispering and giggling. Then he’d gone very quiet; when she started to ask what was wrong, he’d darted his head forward and mashed his lips against hers. Her very first kiss, and it was just as awkward - and lovely - as she’d ever imagined. Their technique had improved as the evening progressed, until eventually a laughing Meena Singh had pulled them apart. “Geez, Molls,” her friend had scolded her while she gazed wistfully at the boy, his dark curls mussed and lips looking very, very pink from all the kissing, “when I told you you needed to come out of your shell, I didn’t mean like that! Making out with a strange boy at a party?” Then she’d giggled and hugged Molly closer. “Good on you!”

“Molly, wait!”

She froze at the sound of that voice behind her - one she’d only heard for the first time the night before, but was as unlikely to forget at his name. She turned, wondering dimly if her face could possibly get any redder as she faced him. The boy from the night before, the one she’d been snogging like - well, like a girl desperate to be kissed. She hoped he wasn’t chasing after her because he thought she’d sleep with him - if that was in his thoughts, she’d be sure to let him know just how wrong he was! “I’m not usually - I don’t usually kiss boys I’ve just met,” she blurted out.

Unbelievably, his cheeks turned as pink as hers. “I don’t usually kiss girls I’ve just met, either - that was my first,” he said, sounding a bit breathless. He reached up and scratched the back of his head, ducking his head and shifting from foot to foot. “In fact, I don’t usually - that was my first time kissing anyone,” he admitted in a rush.

“Mine too,” Molly said. Damn, why was it her cheeks were feeling even hotter now? “It was - “  


“Nice,” they both said at the same time, then laughed awkwardly. Sherlock had his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, and Molly belatedly noticed that he was wearing the same t-shirt from the night before - a Nirvana one that looked too big for his skinny frame - and was barefoot. 

“Um, Sherlock, if you were home, why did your Mum try your phone - and how did your phone end up in my jacket pocket, anyway?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest and squinting at him suspiciously. “You didn’t - did you put it there?”

His cheeks, which had started to lose their pink tinge, immediately flared with redness. “I might have,” he mumbled. 

“Why?” Molly’s heart was beating quite rapidly in her chest, and she bit her lower lip as she looked steadily at him, waiting for his answer.

“BecauseIwantedtoseeyouagain,” he blurted out, one long string of syllables that Molly had no problem understanding. “I thought you’d check the contacts and call my house - I have no idea why my Mum called you,” he added, sounding irked. “She knew I was kipping up in the attic - had an experiment to tend to, which is why I let Victor drag me to the party in the first place,” he added, as if that were some kind of reasonable explanation. At Molly’s blank look, he pulled a face. “I had about four hours time to kill,” he explained patiently. “Then I had to watch it closely for a few hours, and when it finished up I just crashed on the sofa up there. It’s sort of my lab,” he added proudly.

“What, the sofa?” Molly asked with a giggle. When he frowned she giggled again and laid a hand on his elbow. “Sorry, I know you mean the attic. What kind of lab?”

“Chemistry,” he said, eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. “See I had this idea...”

Down the road, Imogen set the field glasses on the fence post and turned to beam at her husband. “Mission accomplished,” she announced, sounding very satisfied. “You were right, Charles; he slipped it into her pocket at the party. She seems like a lovely girl, very cheerful, very smart, just what our Sherlock needs, don’t you think?”

Charles Holmes kissed his wife on the tip of her nose. “Yes, dear, just what he needs. Now, if you’re done meddling in his life, can we go back inside? I do believe I smell something burning!”  


He chuckled as his wife exclaimed something about her scones, then followed at a more leisurely pace as she dashed inside. Imogen’s methods might be unorthodox, but you couldn’t argue with the fact that they generally got results!


End file.
